Remnants
by YearOfTheKitty
Summary: There's a new Downworlder in town, and he's shaking things up. Emil seems harmless, but can Clary trust him? And what is he really after? Pairings undecided, rating may change. Follows CoA.
1. I Remembered Black Skies

**Kitty: Here's a new one… I don't think anyone's thought of THIS yet…**

**Tenebrae: Perhaps that should tell you something about it.**

**Kitty: Shut it, Tenny. Now, the problem with this fic is… pairings. If anyone reads it and likes it enough, PLEASE help me! It's definitely going to be yaoi/shounen-ai (since I don't really like het) but at this point… Maybe I'll do a poll… In any case, your choices for pairings are any combination of Lloyd, Zelos, Emil, Tenebrae, Kratos, Colette (though not really, remember the yaoi), and Ratatosk. Sorry, no Raine, Genis, Sheena, Marta, or Richter. You'll understand why later. I'll even do a crossover pairing if enough people like it (and it's not something freaky/weird like ValentinexColette…). So please, please, please, leave a review!**

**Tenebrae: Please, somebody make the begging stop… (cough) Oh, yes, YearOfTheKitty does not own either book or game whose characters and plot she is stealing. Have fun!**

***

**Chapter One**

**I Remembered Black Skies**

Nyctophobia. Fear of the dark. One of the most common fears among humankind, from toddlers huddled under blankets with a teddy bear and a nightlight to young adults who quicken their pace past dark alleys where no streetlamps shine to elderly men and women who lock their doors and windows tightly against the onset of dusk. And yet, the fear is perhaps not quite what it is thought to be. Scotomaphobia—a fear of blindness might be more accurate. A fear of something that cannot be seen, and therefore cannot be guarded against or fought. Or maybe xenophobia, the fear of the unknown, is the most accurate. The dark itself is not what scares people. The things within it, though, are what makes hearts and pulses race, what makes palms sweat and throats close up, what makes muscles freeze and lungs labor to draw breath. These things, our rational mind tells us, are no different in the dark than they are in the light. There is nothing particularly fearsome about the dark.

Clarissa Fairchild-Morgenstern begged to differ.

"_Israfiel!_"

The shout coincided with a hot burst of light that illuminated the scene: the banks of the East River, New York City. On those banks now were two long figures with dead-white, scaled skin, black holes for mouths, bulging, toadlike eyes, and arms that ended in tentacles where hands should have been. Both turned from where they had been hunched over the still, crumpled form of Luke, Clary's adoptive uncle, to search for the source of the sound and light. They found both in the form of a charging, black-clad boy with hair that shone like the sun in the light emanating from the seraph blade clutched in his hand. The closer demon lashed out with its tentacles, aiming for the running boy's head. Fast as it was, it was not quite enough, for moments later the tentacles flew through the air to land at Clary's feet with a meaty smack.

A gagging noise came from beside her. A tall boy with pale skin, dark hair, and an incongruously scruffy tourist t-shirt glared at the severed appendage with a look of utter revulsion. Clary herself kicked it away, just as disgusted as her friend.

This was not what Clary would call a normal night. At least, she would have liked not to call it a normal night, but the sad truth of it was that nights such as this one had become increasingly common ever since the day she had discovered the existence of demons. That had been almost a year ago, now. It had been a little less than a year since her mother had slipped into an inexplicable coma from which no one and nothing could wake her, and even less than that since she had discovered that not only was her father Valentine Morgenstern—a man unanimously agreed to be the evilest man on earth at this moment—but Jace Wayland, the boy she had been in the process of falling in love with, was her long-lost brother.

In summary, it had been about a year since her life had gone pretty much straight to hell.

Now Clary hesitated, unsure whether she should go to Luke's aid or Jace's.

"Clary, watch _out_!" the dark-haired boy's shout spun her about just in time to see the second demon lunging toward her.

Instinctively, she threw her hands up and the demon struck her, knocking her backwards. She let out a cry as her shoulder hit the hard, uneven ground, the demon's rank stench curling around her just as it tentacles wrapped around her wrist and throat. The touch would have been painful even if it hadn't been crushingly strong, the little teeth that lined each of the tentacles' suckers biting into her flesh and holding on even while she bucked and twisted frantically. Her hands scrabbled desperately against the demon's smooth, scaly hide, to no avail. Her lungs ached, her vision was darkening…

And then, between one moment and the next, the tentacles were gone, her hands left clutching at her own throat as her lungs sucked in a pained breath. She rolled over and rose onto her knees, one hand supporting her while the other went to her belt where her seraph blade hung. Her head whipped around, searching for the demon.

She found it a few feet away, half-crouched, its grapefruit eyes trained on her. No, not one her, she realized, but past her. As she realized this, she realized she could count every scale on the demon's ugly face. The light had grown brighter, and her shadow was going the wrong way for it to be Israfiel…

"Ravaging Tiger!" A shape rushed past Clary in a blur of yellow light, smashing into the demon and throwing it upwards. The demon let out a slithering wail that was cut off abruptly as it crashed downwards under the arc of light, to lie motionless on the rocky earth in a growing spill of what looked like oil.

***

Clary hadn't been having a very good week even by her new standards. Jace, admittedly, had been having a slightly worse one, what with being imprisoned under suspicion of spying for their father, who was plotting a takeover of Shadowhunter (demon-hunter) society. He had been the witness to the slaughter at the Bone City where Valentine had stolen Maellartach, the Soul-Sword, to further this end.

Clary, on the other hand, had recently witnessed Simon, the dark-haired boy, her best friend in the world, arise from his own grave as a member of the living dead—namely, a vampire. As if this hadn't been enough, her werewolf friend Maia had been attacked by Drevak demons only a day afterwards. Her uncle Luke had saved the girl, but while he was out, he had been attacked by Raum demons. This had in turn led to Clary, Simon, and Jace's face-off against the scaly creatures by the East River.

Over the course of Clary's year with the Shadowhunters, she had met some odd characters. Magnus Bane, for instance, looked like a man (albeit a flaming one with a taste for glitter) if one ignored his cat's eyes, pointed teeth, and lack of navel. At Taki's, she had seen many strange-looking Downworlders, and her visit to the Seelie Court would forever change the way she judged appearances. Nothing she had seen to that night, however, could have prepared her for the sight that met her eyes as the buttery light faded away to reveal her savoir.

A normal teenage boy of about seventeen years peered at Clary through the darkness, sliding his weapon into a sheath at the small of his back.

"Are you alright, Miss?" he questioned in a light, young-sounding voice, coming over to kneel next to her. Concerned green eyes regarded her from beneath a fringe of choppy blond bangs. His hair… it was like lightning. Shorter in the back, it was cut off in zigzags that looked sharp enough to cut and layered with gradients of white-blond. At the very top of his head, one strand stood straight up like the bolt from which the rest of his hair branched, wobbling with his movements.

"I'm fine," she said, rising to her feet. Her rose with her. Both teens eyed each other curiously.

The oddest thing about him, Clary thought, even odder than his lightning hair, was his clothes. A blue tube top would have been odd on a guy even if it hadn't been flared to his knees in the back. His black pants bore yellow crosses on the knees that matched his black-and-yellow sneakers. His bare shoulders were protected from the chill of the night by a black woolen scarf around his neck, and his bare arms were covered by fingerless gloves that went all the way up to his shoulders. The outlandish look was completed by the large sheath that hung from a kind of black and gold harness that wrapped around from the top of his chest to his hips, making an X shape at his navel.

"Clary!" Jace, whose fight with the other demon was apparently over, interposed himself between Clary and the lightning-blond stranger. He glared at the newcomer, keeping Israfiel up between them. "Who are you?"

"I-I'm a friend! Please don't attack me!" the strange boy threw up his hands defensively, taking a few steps backward. Clary blinked. Jace was certainly intimidating, she admitted, but she'd never seen anyone quite as affected by it as this boy seemed to be.

"Clary, are you okay?" that was Simon, skidding to a halt beside her. He appeared to be clutching a length of steel pipe in his hands. "Who is he?"

"M-my name's Emil Castagnier," the blond boy bowed—actually _bowed_—and offered a hesitant smile. "Nice to meet you."

"Charmed, I'm sure," Jace drawled. He did not lower his weapon. "But I hope you realize that tells us absolutely nothing."

"O-oh, right," the smile drooped, as did his cowlick. "Well, I… I'm actually looking for someone… You're Clary Morgenstern, right?"

"I prefer Fray," Clary replied.

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"That's okay, but… why are you looking for me?" Clary was curious.

"Um, not really for you, but… it's hard to explain," Emil looked off to the side, blowing a sigh and rubbing the back of his head with one hand, the other propped on his hip. "I'm kind of looking for… your father. Valentine."

"Really, now?" Jace's voice had taken on a silky, smooth quality that Clary frankly found downright frightening. "And why would you be looking for him? If it's for revenge, I'm afraid you'll have to get in line."

"N-No! No, nothing like that!" Emil waved his hands in front of his face. "It's just… he took something that belongs to a good friend of mine. I owe him a favor, so I'm going to get it back for him."

"Do you know who Valentine _is_?" Clary was incredulous. "How do you plan on getting this whatever-it-is back from him all by yourself?"

"I'm going to steal it," Emil stated plainly. Then, in response to Clary, Simon, and Jace's sideways looks, "W-what? I'm not going to _fight_ him for it! I'd get slaughtered."

"So you aren't as stupid as you look," Jace barked a humorless chuckle and finally put his seraph blade away. "But if you think you're going to tag along with us, you've got another thing coming, kid."

"P-please!" Emil lunged forward and caught at Clary's sleeve, his eyes gazing earnestly into hers. "I promise, I won't get in the way. It's just… you're his daughter, so you're bound to meet him eventually, right? On my own, I haven't got a hope of finding him."

"What is so important that you'd go against Valentine to get it?" Simon wondered.

"It's my friend's," Emil shrugged as if that explained everything. "And it's… of sentimental value."

"I somehow don't see Valentine going around stealing family heirlooms," Clary crossed her arms.

"It's a weapon," Emil admitted. "And I've been looking for it for a few years now, since before Valentine got hold of it." Then, casting a glance over his shoulder, "Um, is that guy over there okay…?"

"Oh, Luke!" Clary shoved her way past two startled blonds and rushed to her uncle's side. He was unconscious, but breathing, though his face was almost as pale as Simon's. His sleeve was torn across the shoulder. When Clary drew the blood-stiffened fabric away from the skin, working as gingerly as she could, she saw that across his shoulder was a cluster of circular red wounds where a tentacle had gripped him. Each was oozing a mixture of blood and blackish fluid. "We have to get him inside."

"I'll help," Emil, the closest one to her, offered immediately. He and Simon each took an arm—Jace stood apart, seemingly reluctant to let Emil out of his sight—and began carrying him back towards the house. Emil's steps faltered for a moment when he saw the figure awaiting them on the front porch. It was a man with spiky black hair and more mascara than an Egyptian princess, wearing a long sparkly cape. Green cat's eyes regarded the new boy with an inscrutable expression.

"And who," he said when they were in range, "is this?"

"Emil Castagnier," Emil began to attempt another bow, remembered Luke, and hurriedly straightened.

"We'll talk later; Luke needs help," Clary interrupted before the conversation could go any further.

"Of course. Bring him in, I've put Maia in his room so the sofa's clear now," the caped man nodded and led the way, his cape swirling impressively in a ripple of glitter. Emil and Simon followed, setting the unconscious man down as gently as they could. Emil could not help but notice the long tears in the gray upholstery on both the back and the cushions of the couch, not to mention the blood splattered across one arm.

"Will he be all right?" Clary demanded, refusing to move away even as blue fire shimmered to life between the caped man's hands.

"He'll be fine. Raum poison is a little more complex than a Drevak sting, but nothing I can't handle. At least not if you get back and let me work," the man motioned her away. When she had sunk into the armchair, he continued, "Now, I don't suppose anyone's going to fill me in on how you went out to fight demons and came back with a femboy?" Emil flushed scarlet at that, but said nothing. He seemed uncomfortable among so many people, Clary saw.

"This is Emil Castagnier," Clary introduced the boy to Alec, who was standing with Jace by the window. "He saved me from a Raum demon."

"Castagnier," Alec repeated thoughtfully. "That's not a Shadowhunter name."

"I-I'm a… Downworlder…" Emil haltingly admitted.

"What?" Jace looked up sharply. "And you want to go after Valentine?"

"He wants to what?" Alec blinked. Clary hurriedly explained what Emil had told them about his search.

"…and so he wants to tag along with me for a while," she concluded.

"I… I won't be any trouble, I swear! I'm even willing to work for it if you want," Emil leaned forward slightly, his face set in determination, fists clenched at his sides.

"What could a weedy little girl like _you_ do?" Jace sneered.

"Jace, be nice," Clary admonished. Then, to Emil, "Really, you don't need to work for anything, but… it's best if you just go home. You don't want to get involved with all of this. You do realize he's trying to wipe out all Downworlders, right?"

"Yeah, I know," Emil shrugged again. "But that's not… I mean… I told you I wasn't going to fight him. My kind is very good at sneaking."

"And what is your kind, exactly? You look just like a normal teenager to me," Clary said.

"I'm… we're…" Emil looked down and flushed again. He mumbled something inaudible.

"Sorry, didn't catch that," Jace said coolly. Emil glared at him slightly through his bangs, but raised his voice.

"I'm a shapeshifter," he said.

Well, Clary thought, that would explain it. She doubted shapeshifters were well-trusted among their fellow Downworlders, much less among Shadowhunters. Not to mention his confidence that he could get away with stealing from Valentine, and his apparent lack of fear for him. When the whole world was out to get you, what did one more matter?

"You should leave," Jace suggested quietly. "We don't trust your kind, and I don't want you anywhere near Clary. You'd better warn all your friends, too, because the next person I see trying to befriend her is getting a seraph blade to the stomach on the assumption that it's you."

"Th-that's not it!" Emil clenched his fists even tighter and squeezed his eyes shut, his voice climbing. "I gave it up! I've only shifted once my entire life, and that was to save my friend from dying! Why…" his voice lowered, eyes opening, "Why do you judge me for what I am instead of who I am? How can you do that and claim to be better than Valentine?"

"You…!" Jace's face contorted in fury. At that precise moment, the caped man stepped away from the couch with a sigh of relief. The blue fire flickered out, revealing a much healthier-looking—though still sleeping—Luke. The man sank onto the armrest of the nearest chair, looking drawn and bluish.

"He's going to be fine," he said to Clary. Then, to Emil, "I'm Magnus Bane, by the way."

"The High Warlock of Brooklyn?!" Emil's eyes flew wide. "I've heard about you!"

"Who hasn't?" Magnus waved a hand carelessly, his voice haughty. The effect was somewhat undermined by the lines carved around his mouth, and the fact that his hand was trembling. He looked exhausted. "Which reminds me that I'm not exactly sure what it is you think you're doing, calling me every time one of you has so much as an ingrown toenail that needs clipping. As High Warlock, my time is valuable. There are plenty of lesser warlocks who'd be happy to do a job for you at a greatly reduced rate."

Clary blinked at him in surprise. "You're _charging_ us? But Luke is a friend!"

Magnus took a thin blue cigarette out of his shirt pocket. "Not a friend of mine," he said. "I met him only on the few occasions when your mother brought him along when your memory spells were being refreshed." He passed his hand along the cigarette's tip and it lit with a multicolored flame. "Next time, get your little shifter buddy to steal you some medicine since he's so willing to help before you call me."

"Is he still here?" Jace turned with affected surprise. "I thought I told you to go home, kid."

"I'm older than you are," Emil muttered sulkily, folding his arms. "And I haven't got a home. I told you I've been traveling."

"Well find one," Jace's voice was going silky again, "_quickly_."

"I don't see what the big deal is," Simon broke in suddenly. "He just wants to help us fight Valentine. He sure took out that Raum demon faster than you did. Why does it matter what he is?"

"It matters because you can't trust shapeshifters," Alec spoke up, sounding almost as unfriendly as Jace. "This weak-looking kid could turn into a tiger and tear you apart in a second, or he could turn into a bird and fly back to whoever he's spying for while we're asleep, or he could kill one of us and take our place and you'd never know."

"He said he'd given up shifting," Clary argued. She didn't like the way they all dismissed Emil as an untrustworthy liar the moment they found out what he was. Admittedly, they brought up some valid points, but the defeated look slowly spreading across the poor boy's face looked far too authentic for her not to speak up in his defense. Besides that, Emil was right—what kind of hypocrites were they to hate him on sight and still call Downworlders their equals? Here she was, hanging out with a warlock, a vampire, and two werewolves, and yet she wouldn't give this earnest boy a chance after he'd saved her life?

"That's like a vampire giving up blood," Jace snorted. "It just doesn't happen. He'd give in within a day."

"That's not true…" Emil muttered, but the light had faded from his eyes. His shoulder slumped. "Fine, I'll go. But I'm not giving up on finding Valentine."

"Then why not let him stay?" Simon tried again. "I mean, if he's just going to go after him anyway…"

"I'm not sure you're getting this, bloodsucker," Jace said through gritted teeth, his voice rising. "He is a SHAPESHIFTER. We have less than no guarantee that he's actually helping us instead of plotting to kill us in our sleep!"

"I wouldn't!" Emil's voice went high and squeaky.

"Leave him alone, Jace," Clary commanded.

"Leave who alone?" Luke inquired. Clary whirled around to find him sitting up on the couch, wincing a little with pain but looking otherwise healthy enough.

"Luke!" she darted to the side of the sofa. "Do you remember what happened?"

"Not really," Luke passed a hand over his face. "The last thing I remember was going out to the truck. Something hit my shoulder and jerked me sideways. I remember the most incredible pain—Anyway, I must have passed out after that. The next thing I knew I was listening to five people shouting. What was all that about anyway?" Then, casting his gaze over the assembled people, "We seem to have gained yet another patient for treatment. We should open a hospital."

"What are you talking about?" Clary cast her own look over the room. She was met by five bewildered stares. No one appeared in any way injured. "No one's hurt, Luke."

"That one smells like demon," Luke nodded towards Emil.

"I— " the boy stuttered.

"He saved me from a Raum demon," Clary hurried to his aid. "Some of the blood must have gotten on him, that's all."

"I see," Luke subsided. "And who is he?"

"Just Leaving," Jace answered.

"No, he's not," Clary rebutted. "In fact, Emil, you're welcome to stay the night, if that's okay with Luke."

"Why not?" Luke slumped back onto the couch, shutting his eyes. "Maybe we should make that hospital a refugee camp instead."

"Thank you so much, Miss Clary," Emil said earnestly. "I'm very sorry for all the trouble."

"Oh, it's no trouble," Clary replied, not breaking the glaring contest she'd entered with Jace. "No trouble at all," she repeated firmly.

****

Emil waited uncomfortably while Clary darted into the narrow hallway to fetch sheets and blankets for Luke after a brief, unsuccessful attempt to make him sleep in her bed. Jace followed her, much to the boy's relief. He didn't feel like enduring both Shadowhunters' glares for however long it took for them to return to their own homes.

After a few minutes, the vampire, Simon, followed them. He returned almost immediately, heading directly across the living room and out the front door. Clary, looking to be on the verge of tears, rushed after him, the door banging shut behind her. Jace emerged from the hallway unsteadily, a pile of blankets clutched sloppily in his arms.

Emil darted forward to take them from him, busying himself with helping Luke get settled. He'd said he would earn his keep, and he would. Behind him, Alec wordlessly made his way across the room and out the front door. Clary came in soon afterwards, looking dejected. Magnus, after a brief conference with a half-asleep Luke, decided to stay for a while longer to make sure the werewolves were recovering properly.

There followed a few minutes of awkward conversation between Clary, who still looked miserable, Magnus, who looked bored out of his glittery skull, and Emil, who looked uncomfortable and out of place. Jace sat on Luke's piano bench and ignored them all. Soon, Clary decided to call it a night and retired to her room. She was too preoccupied to remember that all the beds and even the couch were taken, leaving nowhere for Emil to sleep.

The boy resolutely raided the linen closet—feeling a little guilty as he did so, and feeling like even more of a wimp for feeling guilty in the first place—and removed a few blankets, which he settled onto the floor with. He'd slept on worse in his time, and he had promised not to cause any trouble. Magnus gave him an odd look, but said nothing, and Jace continued to poke at the piano and ignore them.

It was quite a while before Emil fell into a light, uneasy doze.


	2. The Lightning All Around Me

**Kitty: As the only one of my fics not pre-written, this one will have long waits between updates. Not that anyone seems to be reading it anyway. There's still time to decide on the pairings, but if nobody says anything I'm going to have to make one up myself, and don't get mad at me if you don't like it. Even an anon review with nothing but the name of a pairing would be lauded to the heavens. **

**Tenebrae: Ahem, there are hints of past MartaxEmil in this chapter, but that has no bearing on the pairings YearOfTheKitty will put in, since it's PAST MartaxEmil. Don't let that discourage you. YearOfTheKitty does not own Tales of Symphonia: Dawn of the New World or the Mortal Instruments trilogy. If she did, she'd come up with her own pairings and you would simply have to deal with them…**

**Kitty: Anyway, read, review, and enjoy!**

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

**Chapter Two**

**The Lightning All Around Me**

There are several things that constitute a 'bad night'. Not getting any sleep might be one of them. Having to sleep on a hard floor fully clothed was another. Waking up only moments after falling asleep because one of your 'roommates' was sneaking out the front door was yet another.

Emil was having a bad night.

The boy cracked one eye open, making sure to keep his breath deep and even, to watch as Jace padded noiselessly across the room to the front door. Magnus, he saw, had fallen asleep in the armchair. For a few moments after the door had swung closed, Emil debated with himself. On the one hand, Jace was obviously up to something that may or may not have to do with the demon he'd been interrogating earlier. On the other, he really didn't want to give them any reason not to trust him—beyond being a shapeshifter, that is—and besides, how could he hope to follow such a well-trained Shadowhunter as Jace?

Finally, his curiosity and mistrust of Jace won out, and Emil rose from his nest of blankets to tiptoe to the front door. He spent several minutes just turning the knob and inching it open wide enough for him to see out, hoping Jace hadn't been paying attention to the minute movements.

He hadn't been. The Shadowhunter was deep in conversation with a dark-haired vampire (not Simon) leaning against a demonic motorcycle. Emil breathed a short sigh of relief, and returned to pondering how in Niflheim he was going to pull this off. As he watched, Jace swung his leg over the bike, exchanged a few more words with the vampire, and flew off. The vampire watched him go for a few moments before turning towards the door.

"I hear you there, shapeshifter," the vampire said, not looking at Emil. "Is there something you wanted?"

"No…" Emil fully emerged from the house.

"Good, because I believe I have already suffered enough on your part," the vampire raised his eyes to give the lightning-blond boy an aggrieved look.

"Wh-what do you mean?"

"Your friend. I am quite tempted to bite him, but I do not wish for the blood of a creature as annoying as he to flow through me. He probably tastes like sour grapes," the vampire made a face.

"…Tenebrae?" Emil called out softly.

"I take offense to your immediate assumption that I am the so-called 'annoying friend' of which the vampire speaks, Lord Emil," a deep voice spoke out suddenly from right beside Emil. The boy jolted backwards, met by yellow eyes inches away from his own.

"I'm sorry," Emil sighed. But really, who else would have been irritating the vampire so badly? Tenebrae had always felt a particular kinship with vampires—what some might call an 'obsession'—since they were purportedly 'Children of the Night'. Emil had lost count of the number of times he'd had to pull the Centurion away from a bloodthirsty vampire who most certainly did _not_ want to discuss the relative merits of shadows cast by sunlight versus shadows cast by moonlight. "Where have you been?"

"I didn't think my presence would have helped your case," Tenebrae said. "If one shapeshifter is mistrusted, two are doubly so. But you wished to follow the Shadowhunter, correct?"

"Yeah. I think he's up to something," Emil nodded.

"And you still refuse to shift?"

"Yes." This was stated with the firmest voice Emil had ever used when not in Ratatosk Mode. He didn't waver even when Tenebrae glared, irritated, squarely into his eyes.

"Fine then," the purple and black creature heaved a weary sigh. "Come along now, or we'll lose him." There was a puff of white smoke and a slight popping noise, and the doglike, catlike creature that was Tenebrae had been replaced by a black and purple motorcycle of the same style as the one Jace had ridden off on. Emil hesitated.

"Don't you think he'll see us…?"

"Trust me, Lord Emil," the voice was undoubtedly Tenebrae's, despite coming from the many pipes wound around the chassis. Still doubtful, Emil climbed onto the Tenebraecycle.

"We would appreciate it if you told no one about this," the Centurion of Darkness addressed this comment to the vampire still watching them.

"So would I, were I in your place," the vampire replied noncommittally.

"Don't worry about it, Tenebrae," Emil forestalled his friend from arguing. "They're bound to find out anyway. I'm sorry for the trouble," he added to the vampire. The Tenebraecycle purred to life then, lifting up from the ground and soaring through the air after Jace. Emil's scarf trailed out behind them like a banner in the wind. The boy quickly found that Tenebrae was quite capable of driving himself like this, and all he had to do was hold on to the handlebars and let him direct them as he chose.

"He's going to see or hear us," he murmured under the soft noise of the engine. Tenebrae's answer was to swoop downwards in a stomach-wrenching motion to skim along practically on the surface of the East River. Ahead and above, Emil could make out the black speck that was Jace. The only way he would see them would be to turn completely around, and even then they would be difficult to make out against the dark, shifting mass of water.

After several minutes of flying, the dot that was Jace twisted and plunged downwards, towards the river. Emil squinted and saw what he was aiming for: a large, black ship with no lights scything its way through the water. Tenebrae sped up now that their goal was in sight.

The two landed on the deck of the ship after they were sure that Jace had left his own motorcycle there to go exploring. Emil winced at the popping noise Tenebrae made shifting back to his preferred form, but there was no indication that anyone besides him had heard it. The wind and waves had probably drowned it out, he thought hopefully. The blond swordsman tiptoed his way to the cabin, poking his head around the corner cautiously. Jace was by the rail at the bow of the ship, he saw, his arms thrown out and his hair and clothes whipping in the wind.

"Tenebrae," he breathed, hoping the noise of the wind would cover up his words, "get small and stick close to him, please. When he's done, please come back to me. I'll hide on the deck until he leaves."

"Yes, my lord," the Centurion muttered back. His black and purple form blurred into invisibility, leaving Emil to wait impatiently, peridot eyes fixed on the golden-haired boy in the bow. He waited for what seemed like several minutes, though in reality was only a few seconds. The wind cut through his thin clothing, and even his scarf didn't offer much protection against the cold. Finally, his pseudo-patience was rewarded by a tiny puff of white—no more than a blown-out candle might make—near the small of Jace's back. That was Tenebrae, he assumed, taking on the form of a bug to cling to his jacket.

Just in the nick of time, too, for only seconds later, Jace turned away from the railing. He strode across the deck quickly, right at where Emil hid. The boy fought down the urge to duck out of sight—if he'd been seen it wouldn't make a difference, and if he hadn't the movement would surely attract the Shadowhunter's notice. As it was, Jace merely drew his stele and drew an Opening rune on the cabin's door, completely oblivious to the other boy's presence.

The door swung shut behind him, and Emil breathed a sigh of relief, finally able to relax. He stepped away from the cold metal of the cabin and placed his hands on his hips, taking a look around the abandoned deck of the ship. A gust of biting wind cut into his shoulders, yanking at his scarf with choking force and chilling him to the bone. He hoped whatever Jace was doing down there wouldn't take him long.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Emil lay on his back on the cabin's roof, watching the stars idly. He had done this countless times with Marta and Tenebrae on their journey to 'awaken' Ratatosk—though the latter had insisted on finding shapes _between_ the stars instead of in them like Emil and Marta had done. He shut his eyes and let the breeze slide over him, imagining coarse grass prickling his back and the sound of trees rustling in the wind. For a moment, he could almost hear the soft whoosh of breath beside him, could almost feel the warmth of another body lying nearby. But somewhere in the city beyond the river, there was a screech and a blare of car horns, and the magic was broken. Emil was back in a city he'd never wanted to visit, looking for something that should never have been lost, and Marta…

_Marta_…

There was a sudden noise from the deck, startling the blond out of his thoughts. It had been quite a while since Jace had gone into the cabin. Now Emil flipped over onto his stomach and scooted to the edge of the roof, peering over it to see what was happening.

A tall, broad-shouldered man with white-blond hair was emerging from the cabin. Emil's breath nearly stopped. He was dragging the motionless body of Jace. As the man turned to lay the unconscious Shadowhunter on the deck, Emil's breath really did stop. There, strapped to the man's back…

Emil fought down the urge to leap onto the deck and fire off Ain Soph Aur. He would never be able to fight off Valentine—for who else could this man be but Valentine?—not without the aid of monsters or his Centurions, anyway. Not to mention he still didn't know what was going on. Where was Tenebrae? Still hiding in Jace's clothes, hesitating like Emil was?

Valentine sat himself upon a stack of flattened boxes and settled in to wait. Emil cautiously did the same. The man's attention seemed to be focused on the still figure of Jace. They waited just long enough for Emil to begin to wonder if the boy was really only unconscious before anything happened. Finally, the young Shadowhunter stirred, his eyes fluttering slightly before opening halfway. He let out a groan and laboriously levered himself up onto his elbows before freezing, realizing that he was not alone.

"That was a nasty knock to the head you got," Valentine said. "How do you feel?" Jace's response was to shoot violently upright. Unfortunately, his body did not cooperate, and he ended up hunched over slightly, retching.

"I feel like hell," he finally managed.

"I have another obvious question for you. How did you find me?" Valentine asked pleasantly, like a young child questioning his hide-and-seek partner.

"I tortured it out of your Raum demon." Emil winced at the harsh answer. He had killed the other demon, yes, but nothing and no one deserved torture. It reminded him too much of the prejudice against half-elves from back home. They couldn't help that they were born the way they were… "You're the one who taught me where they keep their hearts. I threatened it and it told me—well, they're not very bright, but it managed to tell me it had come from a ship on the river. I looked up and saw the shadow of your boat on the water. It told me you'd summoned it too, but I already knew that."

"I see." Valentine seemed to be hiding a smile. "Next time you should at least tell me you're coming before you drop by. It would save you a nasty run-in with my guards."

_Ah, so that explains the unconsciousness,_ Emil realized. Then, worriedly, _but what happened to Tenebrae? I hope he's okay…_

"Guards?" Jace propped himself against the railing and took deep breaths. He was obviously still recovering from his recent head injury. "You mean demons, don't you? You used the Sword to summon them."

Now Emil was interested. Every fiber of his being strained forward, listening with all his might. They had to be talking about the Mortal Sword, the one strapped to Valentine's back. He had been using it to summon demons? Emil felt a momentary flash of indignation—_that wasn't how the Sword was meant to be used!_—before he pushed it away, concentrating on Valentine as the man began to speak.

"I don't deny that. Lucian's beasts shattered my army of Forsaken, and I had neither the time nor inclination to create more. Now that I have the Mortal Sword, I no longer need them. I have others."

Emil's hands clenched convulsively on the lip of the roof. That… that wasn't what the Sword was for! It was to protect, to defend and unite, not make war and gather armies! He once more had to fight down the impulse to shapeshift into something large and taloned to tear Valentine to shreds. That would help nothing. And he didn't shift, anyway.

"That thing in the stairwell," Jace said, putting a hand to his forehead. "It wasn't Clary, was it?"

"Clary?" Valentine was caught off-guard. "Is that what you saw?"

"Why wouldn't it be what I saw?" Jace's voice had gone unsteady and slightly choked. His face shifted minutely, clearly showing his badly-hidden discomfort. Valentine, on the other hand, had gotten over his small shock and was looking at Jace like the boy was an item he was considering buying.

"What you encountered in the stairwell was Agramon—the Demon of Fear. Agramon takes on the form of whatever most terrifies you. When it is done feeding on your terror, it kills you, presuming you are still alive at that point. Most men—and women—die of fear before that. You are to be congratulated for holding out as long as you did." A hint of pride entered Valentine's voice near the end of his small speech. Emil frowned thoughtfully. Jace was most afraid of Clary? That was odd. She'd seemed like such a nice girl. Perhaps there was some emotional attachment that he was unaware of. After all, she was his sister…

_What would I see if I met Agramon?_ The swordsman wondered vaguely. He could think of many things that frightened him, but none stood out particularly. He dismissed the thought. It didn't much matter, since he didn't intend to ever meet Agramon face-to-face. He'd just have to live with not knowing.

"Agramon? That's a Greater Demon. Where did you get hold of _that_?" Jace's voice had steadied now, though it had gone slightly higher in astonishment. Emil refocused on the conversation. Surely he would talk more about the Sword now.

"I paid a young and hubristic warlock to summon it for me." Emil drooped at the answer—_not the Sword_—but gritted his teeth in anger as Valentine continued. "He thought that if the demon remained inside his pentagram he could control it. Unfortunately for him, his greatest fear was that a demon he summoned would break the wards of the pentagram and attack him, and that's exactly what happened when Agramon came through."

"So that's how he died," Jace said.

"How who died?"

"The warlock," Jace said. "His name was Elias. He was sixteen. But you knew that, didn't you? The Ritual of Infernal Conversion…"

Emil's heart stopped. He had heard that Valentine was in possession of the Sword, had even heard about the slaughter of the Silent Brothers at the Bone City, but he hadn't heard about this. If the Ritual had been completed, his mission would have failed almost before it had begun. He couldn't allow the Sword to be turned. He just _couldn't_.

Valentine had the audacity to laugh. "You _have_ been busy, haven't you? So you know why I sent those demons to Lucian's house, don't you?"

"You wanted Maia," Jace said. "Because she's a werewolf child. You need her blood." Emil felt his heart restart with an audible _thump_ of profound relief. The Ritual hadn't been completed. There was still time.

"I sent the Drevak demons to spy out what there was to see at Lucian's and report back to me," Valentine said. "Lucian killed one of them, but when the other reported the presence of a young lycanthrope—"

"You sent the Raum demons to take her," Jace sagged wearily. "Because Luke is fond of her and you wanted to hurt him if you could." He paused before adding, "Which is pretty low, even for you." Emil had to agree, even if he didn't quite understand what was going on.

"I admire your stubbornness. It's so much like mine," Valentine laughed, rising from his boxes and holding out a hand to Jace. "Come. Walk around the deck with me. There's something I want to show you." Jace hesitated, obviously considering refusing, before taking his father's hand.

The two Shadowhunters spent a few moments while Valentine offered to heal Jace and Jace refused before they moved off along the deck. Emil watched them go, eyeing the distance speculatively. He waited until they were far enough away—near the front of the ship—before attempting to descend. He jumped down behind the cabin, wincing at the thump his sneakers made against the metal surface. A quick peek around the corner proved that neither conversant had taken it amiss, leaving the way clear for Emil to dart around to the railing unseen.

The next few minutes were spent creeping from stack of boxes to pile of rope at a pace so slow it was almost physically painful. Or maybe that pain in his chest was because Emil was taking such shallow breaths, afraid they would hear it even above the wind if he breathed too loudly. After all, weren't they trained killers?

When the green-eyed youth had finally taken refuge behind a metal box labeled 'HANDLE WITH CAUTION' in flaking white letters, father and son had been talking for several minutes. It was more difficult to hear out here, right in the thick of the stiff breeze, but Emil could just make out what they were saying.

"…If the Clave goes on as they are," Valentine seemed to be arguing, "the demons will see their weakness and attack, and the Clave, distracted by their endless courting of the degenerate races, will be in no condition to fight them off. The demons will attack and they will destroy and there will be nothing left."

Emil gritted his teeth, half-wishing he hadn't arrived in time to hear that. _Degenerate races_. Like any of them had asked to be born Downworlders! Like any of them had asked to be infected by demonic diseases! It was absolutely maddening, this prejudice. A fierce wave of protectiveness arose within Emil, darkening his eyes—the spring green acquiring a reddish tint—and bringing a snarl to his lips. The Downworlders were _his_ people, he had claimed them and no jumped-up Shadowhunter zealot was going to hurt them while he was around. He hadn't been able to stop half-elf persecution, but this was something he could help with.

"Luke," Jace said. His mind appeared to be running along the same lines as Emil's. "Luke isn't a degenerate—"

"Lucian is different. He was a Shadowhunter once. This isn't about specific Downworlders, Jonathan. This is about the survival of every living creature in this world. The Angel chose the Nephilim for a reason. We are the best of this world, and we are meant to save it. We are the closest thing that exists in this world to gods—and we must use that power to save this world from destruction, whatever the cost to us."

"In the old tale," Jace said, "Satan said to Adam and Eve 'You shall be as gods' when he tempted them into sin. And they were cast out of the garden because of it."

There was another one of those pauses before Valentine laughed. "See, that's what I need you for, Jonathan. You keep me from the sin of pride."

"There are all sorts of sins." Jace turned to face his father. "You didn't answer my question about the demons, Father. How can you justify summoning them, _associating_ with them? Do you plan to send them against the Clave?"

"Of course I do," was the easy answer. "The Clave won't yield to reason, only to force. I tried to build an army of Forsaken; with the Cup, I could create an army of new Shadowhunters, but that will take years. I don't have years. We, the human race, don't have years. With the Sword I can call to me an obedient army of demons. They will serve me as tools, do whatever I demand. They will have no choice. And when I am done with them, I will command them to destroy themselves, and they will do it."

Emil nearly threw up at that point. Commanding an army of sentient—at least somewhat-sentient—beings to kill themselves? Whatever euphemism Valentine used to justify it, he was still organizing mass suicides of creatures that more than likely didn't want to die. Nobody wanted to die. Why should they come to such an end at the will of one man who thought himself a god?

"You can't slaughter every Shadowhunter who opposes you," Jace looked as sick and angry as Emil felt, though for different reasons. "That's murder."

"I won't have to. When the Clave sees the power arrayed against them, they'll surrender. They're not suicidal. And there are those among them who support me. They will step forward when the time comes."

"I think you're underestimating the Clave," Jace said. "I don't think you understand how much they hate you."

"Hate is nothing when weighed against survival," Valentine said assuredly. Emil's mind immediately flashed back, to a man who had been willing to sacrifice an entire world for his hatred. He shook his head firmly back to the present as Valentine continued. "But don't take my word for it. I told you there was something I wanted to show you. Here it is."

Valentine drew the Soul-Sword and held it out to Jace. Both young men examined it curiously. It had changed since the last time Emil had seen it. Where before it had glowed with fire all down the blade, now that light was confined to a single point in the hilt. The blade was dull silver, dark and heavy-looking.

"Very nice," Jace managed, looking overwhelmed.

"I want you to hold it," Valentine held out the Sword hilt-first.

"I don't…" Jace hesitated. In that moment, Emil made his decision. This was the perfect moment, while Valentine's guard was down and the Sword was held out so temptingly.

He sprang out of hiding, his left hand snatching at the proffered hilt while his right withdrew his own sword as quickly as thought. Both Jace and Valentine reeled slightly, shocked by the boy's sudden appearance. When they had recovered, Emil was already several feet away, Maellartach safely in his grasp.

Valentine recovered swiftly, drawing out a knife from his belt and launching it at Emil's head. The boy brought his blade up to knock the smaller weapon away, but in the seconds it took for him to do so, Valentine had darted between him and the ship's railing. Green eyes scanned the area. To his left, Valentine; to his right, Jace; and behind him, a long run before the ship's cabin, in which resided a Greater Demon. The only plausible escape route was forward, but if he jumped off there he'd find himself in the East River with a large ship bearing down on him and no time to get away.

"You!" Jace gaped once he had recognized the oddly-clad boy. "You're that shapeshifter who saved Clary."

"A shapeshifter?" Valentine's face and voice grew harder than granite. "You have made a grave error by coming here, Downworlder scum."

"The Sword isn't yours," Emil barked. Jace blinked, taken aback. From what he'd seen of Emil Castagnier, he had gathered two things about the boy: first, he was a total wimp and second, his eyes were green. Both of these things seemed to have changed.

_Big surprise,_ Jace thought, rolling his eyes at himself, _he's a_ shapeshifter. _Looks like I was right._

"As a Shadowhunter I have as much right to the Mortal Sword as the Clave," Valentine replied evenly. "As a matter of fact, it's in better hands now than it was in before."

"Shut up!" Emil snarled, slashing his sword in front of him as if to cut off the flow of words. His eyes glowed hellfire red. "I'm not talking about the Clave. They stole it even before you did."

"The Angel Raziel gave Shadowhunters the Sword along with the Cup and the Mirror," Jace said. "It was a gift—not stolen."

"Do you believe all of your bedtime stories, little boy?" Emil sneered mockingly. "It's a nice tale, I admit, but no more true for it. The Clave did get it from an Angel, yes, but not the one you're thinking of and certainly not with the Angel's consent."

"So that's what you were after all along," Jace realized. "The Mortal Sword. I suppose next you're going to tell me the Angel himself asked you to get it back for him?"

"Again, not the Angel you're thinking of, but close enough," Emil shrugged. "Now this has been a lovely chat, but I think it's time to go."

"One more thing," Valentine's tone halted Emil more than his words. The man sounded almost curious, with a hint of uncertainty that neither Emil nor Jace had ever heard in him before. "You are a Knight of Ratatosk, are you not?"

"Yeah," Emil eyed Valentine askance. "How would you know that?"

"What's a Knight of Ratatosk?" Jace asked.

"It is a Downworlder cult," Valentine answered his son first, sneering slightly as he said it. "They deliberately imbue themselves with demonic energies to give themselves greater abilities—abilities such as the use of magic. They believe in the resurrection of the deity Ratatosk, whom they hold to be the guardian of the Portals between worlds, charged with the task of keeping this world safe from demons."

"Quite the exceptional job he's doing," Jace snorted.

"I said _resurrection_. He failed, and the Knights are convinced that by bringing him back they will rid our world of demons once and for all," Valentine shook his head. "And you accuse my son of believing in fairytales."

"I'm…! You're not… Lord Ratatosk is no myth," Emil snarled. As he spoke he began inching his way closer to Valentine. If he could just catch him by surprise, a quick vault over the railing would get him away clean.

"As much as I loathe being in agreement with this Downworlder filth," Valentine had noticed Emil's movements and taken out two more knives, moving to block him, "I, too, think the time has come to end this. It is quite unfortunate that I have already obtained the blood of a faerie child; it would have been a pleasing irony for your death to further my plans. As it is, you may rest assured that _someone_, if not your cult idol, is working to eradicate the demon scourge."

"Just shut up!" Emil made a break for what he deduced to be the path of least resistance: Jace. The serrated sword in his right hand was held in front of him as he ran, clearly for use if the Shadowhunter tried to stop him. Jace, for his part, hesitated. He didn't want Valentine to have the Sword any more than Emil seemed to, but could he really just let this shapeshifter abscond with it right under his nose? Who knew what the Downworlder planned to do with it, or if the Clave would ever be able to retrieve it again. In the end, Jace's body had moved almost before he had made his decision. One foot lashed out to hook around Emil's ankles as the boy careened past.

"Ah!" the red-eyed boy yelped—sounding more like the green-eyed Emil than he had in a while—as he hit the deck, literally. Both swords skittered out of his grasp and bounced across the metal deck. Emil snarled wordlessly and leaped for Maellartach. Unfortunately, his movements were mirrored by Jace, with one crucial difference: Jace was closer.

At that moment, there was a poof of smoke and a loud pop. Jace grunted as something heavy and solid hit his back and pinned him to the deck. Whatever was on top of him shouted encouragement to the Knight of Ratatosk who had now snatched up the Soul-Sword triumphantly.

Emil staggered a step back with a kind of choke even before Jace saw the knife handle protruding from his side. Maellartach tumbled from his grip, but there was no clang of metal on metal. Valentine's hand reached out and plucked the sword from mid-fall, holding it tauntingly just out of reach of the wounded boy. With his other hand, Valentine reached out and casually tore the knife from Emil's flesh in a gout of blood. The boy choked again and tried to lunge for the sword, but only ended up stumbling to his knees, clutching his side. Blood welled up around his fingers.

"Lord Emil!" the thing on top of Jace sprang forward. Jace had just enough time to glimpse something purple-black with a long tail before the whatever-it-was was engulfed in a cloud of white vapor. Any popping noise was drowned out by a sudden roar as something much, much larger than the purple-black shape exploded from the cloud. The whole boat shook as it hit the deck, and even Valentine took a step back at the sight before him.

It was an enormous, black dragon.

The dragon roared again at Valentine before scooping the kneeling Knight into its claws. Tentlike wings unfurled and flapped, dragging the dragon backwards into the air. Once it was high enough, it rolled over onto its belly and shot like an arrow away into the night.

"Shapeshifters," Valentine swore. "I really must speak with Clarissa about her choice of friends."

And, for the first time in a long time, Jace found that he and his father had the exact same goal.


End file.
